Avast, awkwardness

She's telling me that she found the man that she will marry. The man that makes her feel full, complete. From across the crackling line, my terse reply: "that's great." I'm not smiling, but I mean what I say.

It is great. It means the quasi-vigil I've been maintaining, the watch I've been keeping over her... it can be ended. See, I wronged her in so many ways. She forgave me, and in my agonizing remorse, I told myself that I'd continue to be her friend. Instinct and convictions be damned. Why? Because she deserved it, that's why. She deserved someone to look after her, to lend a welcoming ear. She had other friends; maybe all of this wasn't necessary. But I was there, just in case.

I can only hope it works out for her, because I'm ready to let her go. Am I selfish? Have you forgetten that I've always wanted her to be happy? It goes without saying that I have. So I write instead about the things that need to be said.

She was good to me. I never made her feel special, the way that this new guy does. Frankly, I don't feel too guilty about that anymore. But I am glad -- relieved, mostly -- to see her happy. True, hearing about it does remind me of what's missing in my life...

Every time I've heard Death Cab For Cutie's You Will Be Loved, I've thought immediately of her.

She knows none of this, of course. Nor will she know how I intend to slowly, calmly, inexorably slip from her life. The prisoner stealthily escaping his self-imposed confinement. A dark cloud dissipating into hot sky. The memories? A dream vanishing into waking day.